Breakfast Schmeakfast

I've heard that eating breakfast is a good way to start doing a lot of things, like being healthy and being less brain tired. I've successfully eaten breakfast two days in a row, which is a BIG deal if you know me and my eating schedule. Which, to be honest, follows the strict, "Do I have time to eat today?" or "Did I actually eat something just now, because wow that's cool!" schedules. Here's hoping I can keep it up and notice some kind of generic statement results about being healthier and blah blah.

I'm not sure I hold out much hope, but I know just two days of food isn't enough to make a difference. I'm pretty wiped, mentally. That leads to just being tired all the time. I see why a lot of people who have a Ph.D are considered experts in their fields. That's all they ever think about and practice and do. I'm not even an expert and my brain is so full of second language acquisition aspects that it's about to burst. I've even taken a second job teaching adults who want to earn a high school diploma. Forget about teaching a second language, I am teaching them grammar and structure and style for their first language. More power to them. I admire them for wanting diplomas later in life. I'm just hoping I can help them.

Sheepy

So, I have a new laptop because my previous laptop is nearly five years old. It still works and is a good machine, but it just isn't keeping up like it needs to in my busy school life. This one is the same brand, but a sleeker and faster model with three times the storage capacity on the hard drive. I barely took up an eighth of the space on the last one. I'm not sure what I will do with all the space on this one. I'll find out, I guess.

I went shopping tonight to buy fruits and veggies and generally better-for-me food. I'm hoping this works and I start to make better choices. I've never been good at tricking myself to eat better food, because I know I'm tricking myself, and I'm too smart to outsmart myself. It's very existential, these conversations I have with myself, "Hey, this is a better choice! We can freeze grapes and they taste just like healthy candy!" "Yeah? Healthy candy is an oxymoron and doesn't exist. Let's just go eat real candy and be happy." "Okay." That's how it goes. Currently, there are no candy or cookies or cake or any other tempting foods in my apartment. Well, unless you count the two month old package of Oreos I never ate. I keep forgetting to throw them out. Stale Oreos probably taste just like they sound.

I've been figuring out the points values on all the foods I ate today. I'm proud of myself, because I tracked it all in my little stupidsmartphone app they give you for free at WW if you sign up to pay all this money a month because it's the best value ever and you lose more weight if you do all this stuff they say to do. Yeah. I ate all my points, and only went over by 3. That's not so bad considering all the meals I ate today were restaurant food. And we get those extra 49 points per week. I'm still trying to figure out the points value for this post-nasal drip my allergies have turned on. I think I'll ask at my next meeting.

Now, it's bed time. Right after a hot and relaxing shower.

Something something bum bumm baduuum

I have the muddled words of some Rush song playing in my head. Really, it's just the music. I had an e-mail saying I better log into the blog or else. That was pretty scary. Or else. I have joined WW again, and the first meeting is on Wednesday. I say again, because I keep having to drop out of the meetings because of cost. I wish they were free. They helped me so much when I was on it regularly. I am determined, this time. Nothing is stopping me. Except maybe school. And homework. And work. And that piece of chocolate cake in my fridge. We'll see how it goes this time. I'm hoping I can make myself stay with it and pay for it monthly. It's crazy expensive, considering we just cancelled our cable because of money issues. The husband says to go for it though. He's mildly encouraging. Mostly he just says okay to whatever I say. He's very placating. It's bed time now.

"You Look Like a Dementor" And Other News From Grad School

A month and a half in to the first semester as a grad student, and I've been told I look like a Dementor. Interestingly enough, it was a compliment. So, there is that. One of my colleagues told me that, and the next day she gave me a teapot. Life is good.

Grad school is an interesting ride of exhaustion on top of the zombified roller coaster of academic success. And by academic success, I mean never sleeping again in my life. However, I am having a great time. I have wonderful students who thrill me to no end with their antics and attempts to pass this course. One of them has a wife who wants to invite me to dinner (!). I guess I'm doing something right. I love teaching these people. They're so eager to learn. I realize this may be the novelty of the job and that I happen to have exemplary students that other teachers don't have, but I still am loving it so far. It's challenging, but the looks on their faces when they get something right is just priceless. Occasionally, I reward them by speaking a phrase or two in Klingon. Yes, they really see that as a reward. There's also the occasional Fox in Socks reading if they come visit me in my office hours. And usually, I have students lined up.

As far as the coursework goes that I'm studying...well...it's ridiculous. I have to work hard for my grades now. Before, I only had to work semi-hard. However, it is paying off because I got a 98 on my first midterm! One of my presentations was done with "Syntax Cookies." What are those? Why, they're sugar cookies with syntax rules written out in frosting. Great learning tool. No, they weren't for children. They were for my fellow grad students. Everyone needs a pick-me-up now and then. If that comes in the form of a cookie with grammar rules written on it, so be it.

The husband and I made the move from one town to the next fairly uneventfully, and we've even settled in to a routine. The dogs have adjusted. He has adjusted. I've adjusted to being more busy than ever before. Life is actually pretty good right now. I'm off to bed, because I'm tired.

Obla-Di...

To borrow from The Beatles, "Life goes on." It does. Since I last posted I have been accepted to graduate school. I finished the 21-hour semester without dropping any classes. I got FIVE As. FIVE. And a B or two. But FIVE As. All I have to do now is get through this summer semester, which is almost over. Graduate with an undergrad degree. Find a place to live. Move to Lubbock. Go to Texas Tech. Also, I got a paid Teaching Assistant position which will waive most of my tuition! I'm flying pretty blindly here, having only been to Lubbock once in my life. But I've got some faith, and I'm fairly stubborn. So it'll work. It really will.

I'm off to school to work on my claymation movie. Yes. Claymation. It's one of my classes. I'm making a movie based off a few characters in a tabletop roleplaying game my husband runs semi-regularly. It involves a giraffe who has the mentality of a three year old and a guy wearing a tutu and a top hat...in a post apocalyptic West Texas. Fun.

Time Marches Onward

Regardless of the fact it's been nearly a year since I've written anything here, a lot has happened. In fact, it keeps happening. Constantly. I am currently curled in bed between my husband and a Great Dane. Little room for the Amazon.

I keep thinking that I'm a failure, in more ways than one. I am sitting here contemplating dropping a class. I hate dropping classes, but I am taking 21 hours this semester. This is a course load so heavy, I had to get permission. Under normal circumstances, I like to think that I could have pulled this off. As it stands, I've been so sick for two months that I've missed the vast majority of this class. This professor has been beyond kind and understanding in her dealings with me. I have it in my head that by asking to drop the class, I am abusing her kindness. Is that the case? Probably not, but I feel like it. I feel like a quitter. I've been on six different antibiotics since January. Six. FINALLY, I am seeing some relief from this plaguing upper respiratory infection. But, the damage has been done to my schoolwork. Especially in 7 classes. I've managed to keep up in all but this one class, despite my efforts. I get shot backward.

I've also been having a lot of the usual girl pains. A lot. Since Thanksgiving. Progressively worse. Speaking in fragments. The first part of the plaguing infection, I had a blood pressure scare. My BP was 208/110 at one point because of how much pain I was in, because high blood pressure runs in the family, and because I was on a really high dose of estrogen birth control pills. We've finally got that under control, sort of. It was scary. Very scary. Back to the pain. After a sonogram, it was determined that nothing life threatening was in my ovaries and/or uterus. Just the numerous cysts that are omnipresent with PCOS. So, my other option is surgery. It's been about four years since the last one I had to remove the endometriosis build-up. Yeah, I have a diagnosed history of endometriosis AND polycystic ovary syndrome. Lucky me, I get to have both, which is unusual because of the nature of the diseases. I can't afford the surgery, nor do I have time for the surgery. Right now, it's a matter of tolerating the pain for as long as I possibly can. Past August, because hopefully, I will graduate in August.

I'm hoping August. I have to have thirty hours between now and then. If I drop this one class, then I will be down three credit hours, but there is an online class I can substitue for it that is offered in the summer. I believe I am going to have to do that. Why do I feel like such a failure? Probably because I've been after a degree since 2002. Granted, I had a six year break before I went back. Regardless, I am here now and fighting tooth and nail for this degree so I can go on to make a better life for me, my husband, and whatever future children God will bless us with. Right now, though, it's so hard to see past the looming walls of deadlines and homework and doctors' visits and antibiotics and painkillers and financial difficulty. It is so very hard. Yet, here I am, fighting and struggling to keep my head above water with seemingly little support. I do have support, but it is often caried and unreliable. Occasionally, I just need a hug and a pat on the back with words of encouragement like, "You're doing well. Keep it up," instead of, "You need to get your homework done and you can't miss any more class. What are you doing? I'm hungry." That just drags me down more. In the wise words of Jackson Browne, "Do not confront me with my failures, for I have not forgotten them."

Birthday Blues

Well, the birthday wasn't really blue. In fact, it was one of the best birthdays I've ever had. The months of May and June were horrific, though. It started with the cyst rupture I had. A ticket for running a stop sign on the way to get my 90 year old Granny, who was running a temperature of 104, to the hospital. The bastard cop LAUGHED at me when I told him what was going on. My car breaks down...again. Get it fixed. But we get to start June off with a stroke for my father in law, complete with a week in the hospital and three weeks off work. Our newborn nephew has three holes in his heart that are not healing, so open heart surgery for the little one in a month or so. Gotta wait for his heart to get stronger. Three days after my birthday, my cousin died. I wasn't able to go to the funeral that was earlier this morning. Because, my car broke..again again. I think I cried more over missing the funeral and not being able to go support the rest of my family than I did about his actual death, which was pretty devastating, though not unexpected. He needed a lung transplant. This week I have been weepy and hormonal and pretty damn depressed. The birthday was a welcome distraction. My nephew and I shared a party at Gattiland, which really was fun. I made a French vanilla cake, from scratch.

I'm tired of crying, and tired of things going wrong. That's not even mentioning all the little things that happened: like the plumbing exploding on Father's Day when we had 15 people over. Or the fact I went through three new phones in a week because my body is magically charged and zaps the batteries.

I'm going to go play old school video games with my husband now.

Bleh

After 6 months, maybe I should update this thing. No one really reads it, and a lot of stupid things have happened that have kept me from wanting to post anything.

A month ago, I had a large cyst rupture. It was painful. I cried. I was sitting on the floor at my sister-in-law's house playing Call of Cthulhu.The room went dark briefly, I got tunnel-vision, all color drained from my face, and I started sobbing uncontrollably. That's always fun in a room full of people who are playing games. Went to the ER. What do they tell me? There's nothing we can or will do about it. They took some blood and a sonogram and sent me home with Tramadol. That's it They even said I didn't have a cyst rupture. Excuse me. I think I know what happened. A week later I was in another town for my bro's graduation. Thankfully, my GYN is in that town. I was still hurting and hurting unbearably. I went to the ER there, and ten hours plus a pelvic exam done atop an inverted bedpan later I was diagnosed with two pelvic infections and a ruptured cyst with a lot of fluid buildup. I stayed a few extra days to get a follow-up visit with my GYN.

Depressingly, she confirmed the cyst rupture. The fact I hadn't had a period since January, only one round of clomid, and no money, she gave me the progesterone to induce a period and put me back on birth control. It's the best decision for now, the birth control. Doesn't mean it hurts any less to know I have to go back on something that will prevent pregnancy even more than my body already does. Yeah, I know. I get that it helps the other hormones. I get that I need the periods. I get that it helps. But, at the same time...it hurts. Hopefully when I finish the undergrad degree and get a job with benefits, a job with a paycheck so that we aren't picking for food out of the frozen wasteland of the freezer space. Things will hopefully look up.

Summer school has been kicking my butt. Twelve credit hours. A graduate English class. With a 20 page paper. Yeah. I'm a masochist. My father-in-law had a stroke and was in the hospital for a week. It's been so crazy around here. He's better now, but still it was hard. He's still not cleared to go back to work. It's just rough. Sigh.

Here's hoping that things start to look up as we move forward.

She Wore a Pearl Necklace

On her ovaries. At least, that's what the sonogram picture looked like. Sparkly and round shiny cysts. That'll bring anyone down from a high. I thought that maybe I had ovulated or would ovulate or was maybe in the same neighborhood of ovulation. No, not even close. The sonogram yesterday was a heartbreaker, and yet, it may have provided some hope. A baseline has been established where there previously was none. I go back next week for a cycle day 20 sonogram. Gotta see how the follicles are moving along, if at all. They want to start me on Clomid. I was warned that most girls with PCOS do not respond to 50mg of Clomid at all. Then they up the dose to 100mg, then 150mg. After that I don't know what they do. I may turn into Attila the Hun, according to a friend of mine. Who knows. We'll see. I've a feeling I'm in for a lot of heartache before the final payoff gets here. I'm bracing for it as best I can while trying to remain optimistic about the whole ordeal. Tim and I are starting out on a very long and arduous, not to mention expensive, journey. Thoughts and prayers from anyone reading this will be appreciated more than you will ever know.
The HSG dye test is a must for me because of some idiotic malpractice of a surgeon years ago. There is scarring, and I have no idea if it's inside the tube or not. I'm praying it isn't. I can't run the risk of an ectopic pregnancy, nor does my doctor want to run that risk either. It's a very sticky and precarious situation I'm in, and one that sometimes fills me with despair. I am struggling to bring myself out of that pit and have faith and courage through all of this. 

Asphyxiation

Today has been rough. Today has been an emotional roller-coaster. I want babies. I called to pre-register for my dye x-ray on Monday, only to be told that I would have to have a bare minimum of $675 before they would do the test. I have no insurance, my husband is on disability, and my only source of income right now is whatever happens to be left over from my financial aid for school. I was told that we make too much money for financial assistance. Too much money at $700/month from disability. Now, I knew this wouldn't be an easy journey. I know I only have a short amount of time in which to bear children. I had hoped that we would have more income to pay for the tests and medicines and whatnot. I know that should I have a child we need more income. I KNOW all of this. Maybe I was holding out hope and faith that something would happen. Some miracle would take place. I'm in limbo right now. I feel as if my babies are being taken from me before I even have a chance to conceive them. I'm being robbed. Tomorrow when the nurse calls back to talk to me about sonograms and everything, I'm going to just have to tell her to call it off. To wait and see what's going on. I'm due for my annual exam next month. Can we just let it rest until then? Can we wait and see if the new year brings more hope and fortitude? I'm floundering around in an abyss of emotions. Hurt. Anxiety. Fear. Depression. Sadness. Anger. These are all rife within me, yet I still feel the need to fight, though I am unsure how.

Affording the sonograms, the tests, the medicines, the injections, the everything is out of the question right now. We barely have enough money to feed ourselves. What was wrong with me to think that maybe I could take care of a baby or two? The desire to have children and to love them and care for them is all encompassing. It surpasses my basic survival instincts, or at least, it seems to. I feel like I'm drowning in a never ending cycle of misery and despair and all because of money. People who say money can't buy everything never had to live without it. It can't buy joy, but it can buy food and shelter and clothing. It can buy doctors and medicine and health care. It can buy a car that won't break down if you look at it wrong. It can alleviate some stress. The stress of basic living and functioning. Without worry of where your next meal is coming from or whether or not your shoes will hold out the rest of the year, one can concentrate on other things. I'm so sick of this. This cycle of poverty and desperation. Of being told that there are programs to help, but they won't help. I've tried. I've tried them all. I'm sick of not being able to help myself. I'm going to school so that hopefully I can help myself in the future. But what happens to the present? I can't work and get a job with insurance while I'm in school. I did that before and wound up in the hospital from exhaustion and stress. I'm walking a razor thin line of dilemmas. "Go to school part time and work," was a suggestion. I lose a great chunk of my financial aid when I do that. Tried it last semester. I lost a lot of scholarship money because of it. The loans alone aren't enough to cover everything, even for part time.

All of this ties into my "What do I do now?" questions. Finish school to have a better future and be able to support the babies, but at the cost of possibly not being able to have them. I'm on a very tight timeline. I don't know. I can't even think coherently right now. All of the thoughts in my brain are jumping at me at once. I need to breathe and I can't. I need to sleep and I can't. Each thought is shouting at mee, "what are you going to do?! You have to pick one thing or the other and neither is guaranteed to help your situation any!" They taunt me and mock me. None of them offering any hope or suggestions of a way out. I've hit the very bottom. And I'm curled up crying.

Add to that, today my father-in-law was in a very nasty car wreck. He's okay. The car isn't. I went to pick him up and it was a mess. Traffic. The cars. Ambulances. Fire trucks. He was pretty shaken up, and got a ticket, but I'm so glad he's okay. I also think I somehow managed to kill all the fish in his fish tank while he's been gone at the hospital with the mother-in-law who had back surgery. I just tossed out a very large, very dead plecostomus. I don't know if I overfed them, underfed, them or what happened. I can't do anything right, it seems. 

I don't feel so good.

On almost all fronts. I'm nauseated and crampy from the progesterone. I can't control my moods very much. I've found myself sticking my foot in my mouth more often than not. This morning, I feel I hurt the feelings of my dad's fiancee something fierce. And what I said was not meant as offensive. In my mind and in my heart, I really and truly meant it as a compliment. See, she's pretty rockin'. But I was working on about an hour and a half of hormonal manic sleep in which I cried myself to the slumber. I had gotten up early to go with my parents-in-law to the hospital. MIL was having back surgery. So, coupled with the stress of that, the hormonal crappy sleep, the fact that I have mouth diarrhea sometimes, it was not a good morning. I've apologized profusely, especially when I sit and think about what I said. My rational side just screams at me, "You are such a bitch! How could you say something like that to the nice woman who makes your daddy so damn happy?" My emotional/hormonal side just sits in the corner rocking back and forth and muttering to herself, "I'm sorry. It was a nice thing to say. I meant it nice. I meant it to mean she was really awesome." Then the rocking turns into wracking sobs.  And this dialogue goes back and forth in my brain so much that I've worried myself sick over it. 

Okay, so even at 27, I'm new to this weird crappy hormonal thing. Sorta. It's never constant, the effects. I haven't ovulated in 14 years. I've had 6 years of birth control induced periods and the wanky PMS symptoms those give. I've been diagnosed and treated for severe Pre-menstrual Dysphoric Disorder. I was told to quit taking the Prozac that helps that immensely. I haven't taken it in nearly 6 months. With my hormones being stuck in a semi-constant PMS state, I question the wisdom of the doctor on that decision. So, right now, I'm on my own in a weird hormonal wonderland of guilt, shame, misunderstandings and overall malfunction of, well, everything. In full-blown, actually-gonna-ovulate PMDD PMS. And I have final exams over the course of the next two days. The inability to focus on that is an incredible thorn in my side. I'm doing my best, but wish there were something that could help. I know, I know: "This, too, shall pass." Doesn't make it any easier.

The onset of increased hormone activity also increases my sensory perceptions. I hear everything. I smell everything. Couple that with the synesthetic goodness of tasting and seeing what I hear, well, I'm having a blast. A regular LSD-tripping blast. I've never done drugs of any kind, except the kind that are prescribed to me. A bad experience with hydrocodone right before my last surgery has left me scarred for narcotics for a long while. Regardless, the effects of the acid trip will often induce synesthesia in the individuals being affected. So, think of living with most forms of synesthesia as living with an acid trip. ALL. THE. DAMN. TIME. Normally it's not so bad, and I actually just go with the flow of things as they pass in and out of my psyche. Not when my hormones are significantly and exponentially (redundancy for the win) increased. At this point it's a wonder I'm not committed temporarily.

Things I Love

I never really understood why that song from The Sound of Music is a Christmas song now. You know the one..."raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles, and warm woolen mittens...yadda yadda." Nevertheless, I've been thinking about how down I've been and all the hormonal mess my body is going through right now. My poor husband. I've decided that, like everyone else in the world, since the "Holidays"--that ambiguous word that describes everything from Thanksgiving through New Year's--I should write about the things I love. At the very least, make a list. It helps to get me out of the funk I'm in. So, without further ado, here is a list of things that I love or like or am thankful for, and not in any particular order--just how the spring up in my mind:

1. Cello music
2. Oboe music
3. Tim
4. Daddy
5. Ma and Pa in-law
6. Disney movies
7. Cu Sidhe
8. Rydia
9. Tetris
10. Chinese food
11. Brownies with walnuts
12. Soft blankets
13. Cinnamon
14. Clean bathrooms
15. Spicy candles
16. Spicy food
17. Cloudy days
18. Rain
19. Footie pajamas
20. Cryptozoology
21. Jenn
22. Sara
23. Sarah
24. Tricia
25. Red
26. Synesthesia
27. Corn-free ketchup
28. Cottontails
29. Santa
30. Being able to go to school
31. The smell of crayons and scotch tape
32. Beethoven
33. Jazz music
34. Swing and Big Band music
35. Music in general
36. Astronomy
37. Apples
38. Baking for my loved ones
39. Hot bubble baths
40. Granny!
41. Judy
42. The Beatles
43. Ice cream sundaes
44. Freshly laundered towels
45. Good doctors
46. Cartoons
47. Funny hats
48. Sock puppets
49. Musicals
50. Sharp scissors

I will stop at 50, but even the little things count. To the friends I listed, you guys are pretty awesome and I'm thankful for each and everyone of you, even if I never see y'all in person any more. Yay for the distance-spanning internet.

Holidays and Hormones

I've been thinking about updating for a while now. Every time I think about it, I talk myself out of it and then forget to. Not sure why, other than I'm just lazy. Mainly lots of troubles here. I've been in tears the last few weeks over finances and the cost of all the tests and drugs I need. No insurance. No nothing. It seems my babies are being taken away from me before I even have a chance to conceive them. I will keep fighting. I must keep fighting.

Thanksgiving was a blast and a half, with my 90 year old Granny at the helm. Gotta love her and all her wit and wisdom that spans nigh a century. For Thanksgiving dinner we had a buffet with two turkeys, a spiral ham, dressing, rolls, green beans, mashed potatoes, yams, 2 chocolate pies, 1 coconut pie, 2 caramel pies, 1 pecan pie, 4 pumpkin pies, 2 bread puddings, 1 flan, 1 regular cheesecake, 1 pumpkin cheesecake, 1 pink-stuff salad and 1 Five-Flavor cake. There were far more desserts than regular food. Way to stay on Weight Watchers, there. I failed that and don't even want to know how much I gained. We had planned to head back home on Friday. Much to our dismay, the truck decided that wasn't going to happen. A leaky radiator hose and a rusted pumper-thingy chose that day to completely go kaput. Thankfully, my Daddy fixed it, but we were behind a day in our travels. At least we traveled safely.

Today, I have started taking my progesterone pills. I am hoping and praying with this timing I can make it through finals before I start cramping and ovulating for the first time in 14 years. I'm prepared, but I'm not. I know how much that mess hurts. I know how much I hurt WITHOUT ovulation. I'm not looking forward to it. I am looking forward to a cycle, though, and hopefully unsticking my hormones that are in stasis right now. I cramp constantly because my body is in a constant state of PMS. It wants to start. It just doesn't. It's frozen.  Hoping there is relief in sight. Next weekend, I will start the glucophage to help get the insulin-resistance of the PCOS under control. Just wishin' and hopin' and thinkin' and prayin' this cyyyycle will staaaa-AAAart!

At any rate, just trucking along trying not to think too hard about things. "Trying" being the key word, there. I just have to be less whiny and wimpy about my malfunctioning body.

That's The Way (Uh Huh Uh Huh) I LIKE IT

I got a phone call in the middle of my history class today. I knew what it was. The results from all the blood work done yesterday. I really couldn't wait for class to be over so I could call the nurse back to find out. The results? Pregnant: negative. Prolactin: NORMAL. Thyroid: NORMAL, right smack dab in the middle of normal. Not even borderline! Renal Function: NORMAL. Electrolyte levels: NORMAL...Such great news. I started crying on the phone, in the middle of campus. I can start my progesterone to induce the hurt-like-a-bitch period as well as the glucophage to help with the insulin resistance! I will start those after Thanksgiving so that I have the month between semesters available to travel back and forth for all the fun tests I'm going to have to have done, and the ultrasound monitoring. It's so awesome! SO SO AWESOME! I may not be fully normal right now, but seeing that those test results are all normal is a huge relief.

Period of Apocalypse

So, Tim and I went to SA yesterday for my doctor's appointment. Yesterday, Sunday, we were blessed to be able to celebrate Granny's 90th birthday. Her birthday's not technically until Thursday, but we wouldn't be in town then. Daddy took us all to Olive Garden a "fancy" place in Granny's terms. He took us there not only to get Granny in a fancy place, but to introduce us to the assistant manager of all the culinary staff...his new girlfriend. I was so happy for him. Since my parents divorced, he's dated a couple, but usually not more than one date. Now they're "going steady". I asked him if he gave her his high school ring. It's too cute.

Now on to the fun purpose of the trip: THE DOCTOR VISIT.
I don't ovulate. It seems like ever. "Just because you don't have an egg, doesn't mean there's nothing to bleed out," saith the doctor. I admit, she knows her stuff and she's willing to help. I gave her a long list of family history, a journal of everything that has happened since I went off the birth control pills, and a plea for help. She addressed most all of my questions without me even having to ask them. She had lots of blood work done, which is an adventure in and of itself because of my lovingly uncooperative blood veins. Four sticks, two in the wrist. Enough said. At any rate, she is running a pregnancy test (to free herself from liability, I'm sure. I'm not pregnant). Once I get the results of that, I will turn in my prescription for Provera to induce an honest-to-God-gonna-ovulate-for-real period. She warned me: THIS WILL HURT LIKE A BITCH. Except, she didn't use those exact words. Birth control pills just mask everything and don't really help it. I haven't had a real period in 8 years. I haven't had a progesterone induced period in 14 years. This will be the worst menstrual cycle in the history of ever for me. She told me to be prepared, and she told Tim to be nice to me. He walked into that comment when he asked, "Is there anything I can do to help her pain at all?" He tries. He really does. I couldn't have asked for a better more supportive guy. He's nervous though. We've got to test his swimmers. I'm nervous for him.
After I start my period, then I call the doc and get an appointment set up for a something-or-other. I don't remember the name of it. Basically, I get to have dye injected into my uterus and x-rayed to see if my Fallopian tubes are obstructed. Having endometriosis could possibly cause that. I hope not. Aside from that, I have other scar tissue to worry about because of the bastard who took my appendix out. He left a metal clamp that was about an inch long in my abdomen. I carried it around for five years before anyone ever figured out what the heck was wrong with me. It had taken my non-functioning uterus and literally stapled it to my bowel wall over the course of that time. Scar tissue and bile had formed all around it and was getting infected. No wonder I was in so much pain. Five years of carrying that crap around will do it. The kicker? I had had a previous surgery, a laparospcopy (the one that incidentally, diagnosed me with endometriosis), and the clamp was not detected. I'm a little pissed off. I will be absolutely angry if one of my tubes is obstructed. Livid. So, pray for me, people. I need it.
If everything goes well with Tim, and all the tests and crap I have to go through, then I will be put on Glucophage to help the insulin mess and Clomid since my family has a good clean history with that drug. The history of hypothyroidism may come into play. The doctor is definitely testing for that, because if it's a thyroid issue she wants to make sure that's taken care of, too. So now, we wait. And get a menstrual cycle of apocalyptic proportions. The worst thing the doctor had to tell me today was that I'm not going to get any better. I'm just going to get worse. Some women outgrow the hormone issues, some women get better as time goes on. This six-ish months without birth control has confirmed that I will not be getting better. My hormones are stuck in a stasis of "OH MY GOD, THERE IS PMS SYMPTOMS. I WILL MAKE YOU CRANKY FOREVER AND HUUURT. Then, nothing to show for it. I've kept a careful diary of everything since I went off the pills. They're just stuck. Stuck. Stuck. Stuck. No progesterone, no nothing. They hate me. But, the doc said she can force me to ovulate, and we will go from there.  I will have my babies, then come what may, probably a full hysterectomy. I do have this to say: My babies will be so LOVED when they get here.

I am to stick with Weight Watchers at all times. She knows it's hard, she knows it's tough, she knows I'm committed. 9 weeks at WW and I've lost all of nothing. The two pounds I lost have been gained back with this pseudo-PMS crap I'm going through. It's really a royal pain in the ass. I'm trying hard, though. I'm trying so hard. Though, when I asked what a good goal weight was, she scared me. "For your size, you need to be less than 140lb." I stared at her wide-eyed and Tim looked spooked. I replied that even WW said for my height and body type I need to be in the 170-180 range. She looked confused then read my chart again. "Ooooooh, that's my mistake! You're sitting down, and I misread it. I was thinking you were only five feet tall! I forgot you're over 6'!" We got that cleared up, which was really funny. So, yeah, no ana/mia conventions for me.

Tonight, I am exhausted both physically and mentally and emotionally. I will sleep soon, and hopefully be able to fill out my prescriptions tomorrow and get this party started.

Why, yes, I DID just shove all my french fries into my milkshake.

And I ate it all with my fingers, because there wasn't a spoon handy and I didn't care one bit.

The past few days have been rough. I've been cramping like I haven't cramped in, well, 8 years. Sure, they were bad when I had the medically induced trick-your-body periods brought on by the birth control pills. These, though, are the first honest-to-God cramps I've had in 8 years that have come naturally. It's not fun. And I'm a hormonal train wreck. Poor Tim. Very poor Tim. He's been a saint like you wouldn't believe. Still no actual menstruation, which is incredibly frustrating considering everything. Conveniently, this happens right before I go to the doctor on Monday to discuss all the various mutations my body has decided to come up with.

Today was particularly rough. My cousin's wife (they got married less than a month ago) wrote me a message on the all-powerful and all-knowing Facebook to tell me she is pregnant. She didn't know how far along she was, but yay she's having a baby. I'm thrilled for them. I really am. I'm also bummed for myself and cried. I knew  she was pregnant when I saw her at the wedding rehearsal. The joys of having "psychic" super-powers. I can pick up on pregnancies even before a pregnancy test will. Would be great if I could reliably market my lucrative skill-set to infertile women during the infamously trying Two Week Wait. Except, I can't. And I wouldn't. She says she's due in August. That would put her at, like, all of three days pregnant. She's closer to 5 weeks by my guesstimation. She'll have that kid by the end of June, definitely before the end of July. My other cousin's (this one's brother) wife is due in January. I'm a little more excited for them. Both this guy and his wife are mature enough to handle the new kid. Granted, there are two step-children involved, but still...the recently married pair make me uneasy around kids. I could be completely wrong. I really could. Maybe they will grow up in the next several months. This unease and apprehension really doesn't stem out of jealousy. I am jealous, but I don't wish them harm. I just wish I weren't broken. I'm praying that come Monday, there will be definite steps in the right direction for me. I want little ones. My own little ones. All of this coupled with hormones I haven't dealt with in large quantities since I was about 19 years old was a little much for me to bear. I broke down sobbing.

Thankfully, Tim is such a great husband and my crazy dogs are such great dogs. I mean, my Great Dane is even keeping my spot on the bed warm for me! How sweet is that? (Do you sense sarcasm? I don't...not at all). I am glad for them and their crazy and goofy antics full of pure and unadulterated unconditional love.

Long drive tomorrow to be in the town where my doctor is, I've hurt for three days steady. It is time for bed. Tchus.

Water, water everywhere...

and nary a drop to drink.

Sometimes, that's how I feel. Coleridge knew. Drowning in life. That really should never be a phrase anyone utters. Yesterday wasn't a great day. The day started spiraling downward when we discussed, in depth, Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). Growing up in a household where my mother suffered from this disease was not easy. She was never officially diagnosed with it, and still isn't. In fact, we never knew what it was until a few years ago, which brought some closure--albeit the memories were not erased, with the gaining of knowledge about it. I have memories that I thought were repressed become triggered by certain phrases or words or actions, or even weird deja vu instances. The class talking about the symptoms and signs and physical manifestations were too much for me to handle yesterday. I thought I'd had a fairly decent grip on it, but apparently not. I came home in tears. Thankfully, I have a pretty awesome husband who understands and tried to comfort me as best he could.

Already being in a down mood because of class, I started thinking about all the negative crap about my girlie issues, and how much of them might have been prevented had my mother seemed to actually care about it. I got angry. I got mad. I was livid. I cried some more. I got more depressed because of finances and the upcoming doctor visit. Because of what I might have to be prescribed and what I might have to take as far as medicines go. Not being able to afford it. Having my babies taken from my grasp before they are even placed in it because of the expense of fertility medicines, monthly prescriptions, doctor visits...and no insurance. No nothing. I cried myself to sleep last night. I cried in my sleep. I'm fighting off tears now. I have to keep fighting and keep trucking. Keep doing my part and keep believing that God will do his part. So, I'm trying to cheer up. Anyone got any ideas on how to cheer up and be happy? I'm thinking of going to make a cheesecake. That may happen tomorrow, because I have a psychology test tomorrow I must study for. But I still have plans for cheesecake making. Ah the sweet joys of baking as a stress reliever. Expensive hobby, but I thankfully already have all the ingredients on hand. I must ponder what to actually make for dinner tonight. I'm not sure.

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star...

How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky...

It's been a while since I updated. Been busy, or apathetic, you choose. I don't care which. In the time since I last wrote in this thingy, I've been to a wedding (yay!), taken midterms (un-yay), and written a biology lap report (also, un-yay). I've been trucking along on my weight-loss journey, getting even more frustrated. PCOS is not an easy disease to deal with, physically and emotionally. It slows down weight loss horrendously. In the 7-8 weeks I've been on Weight Watchers, I've lost a grand total of 3 pounds. On average (don't you love that phrase? I don't), most people who stick to the program have lost at least 3 times that amount, if not more. I can't fault WW for that; they're helping--in tiny increments. Which is still a minor victory, even though it feels like I'm wading through quicksand. Sometimes, I get hopeful. My friend joined WW this weekend, and I went to a Saturday meeting with her to get her started. She's the type who won't go by herself, bless her heart. So, I went, and she's all happy I'm going with her. I don't think she realizes how happy I am I'm going with someone. Someone who can help me and I can help, someone who (hopefully) will poke me and prod me into doing what it is I need to do. Currently, we walk three times per week together with another lady. So, at least I'm up and moving. I'm trying to think what I can do in the meantime, on the days we don't walk. It's not like I don't have enough to do with school work, but schoolwork is not very active. I'm thinking. I'm really hoping my friend sticks with this, not only to help her, but to help me, too. I'm a little bit selfish.

School for next semester promises to be very busy. 15 hours I'm scheduled for at this point. I may try to rearrange some of that in the next few days. I'm classified now as a junior, which is wonderful, because I thought I was still in the freshman/sophomore camp. After this semester, I will have ~50 hours left to complete a degree. Then, with much luck, I will be on to graduate school! Whee! I shall be scholarly and smart and stuff. Maybe not articulate, but at least it will be written on paper that I'm "smart".

I'm both anxious and eager about next week. I go to the doctor for a much anticipated appointment. She told me to go off my birth control pills in June, which I did. I have not had a period since then. She wanted to see what my body would do on its own, with no aid, for at least three months before my appointment. Well, I have a list. A big list. A list that we shall discuss in depth. I'm paying out-of-pocket for these expensive visits, so I'm definitely going to get my money's worth. She's also the type of doctor who cares what you have to say, listens to what you tell her, then makes educated decisions based on her knowledge and what you have told her. She's pretty awesome. I know that she's given hope, and even babies, to many many women with issues like PCOS and endometriosis (I have, coincidentally, been diagnosed with both pains-in-the-ass. A rarity). I have dangerous hope that she can help me.

I'm killing time before I take my Akbash Dog, Tetris, to obedience class at Petsmart. She needs it, as she is the most stubborn dog I have ever had the privilege to own. 'Tis their breed. Currently all my goobers are snoring and cuddled up in various places in this room. Rydia's on her bed. Cu Sidhe's on my bed with her daddy, and Tetris is at my feet, lying on  top of them. Spoiled rotten creatures. If nothing else, I have my furbabies, as lovable and frustrating as they can be. I wouldn't have them any other way, except maybe a little more well-behaved. We're working on that. They're still spoiled though, despite the fact they tell everyone that I starve them and beat them. They're starting to have enough rolls to look like their mama.

Time to kill about 45 more minutes until it's time for Tetris and me to get the heck out of Dodge. Leave some comment love so that I feel validated in my rants and whines and declarations. I know, it's all psychological. But, psychological validation is important, right? Right.

Smoosh

I managed to sleep through my WW meeting...and my classes today. I'm worn out exhausted. I spent several hours last night making candy for the niece-unit's birthday party this weekend. One which I will miss. I'm traveling from one end of the state to the other tomorrow. Today, I'm just going part of the way. Tomorrow, the full journey begins, with Sunday bringing all of it. It's for a good reason. My cousin is getting married this weekend, and Granny is going. Granny will have both of her kids and all five of her grandkids together in one spot. That is something that has not happened in a very very long time. Many years. Definitely getting pictures of that. For now, I shall pack up and out and migrate across the state. I am feeling regretful about not going to the meeting or weigh-in today. Kinda. I really wanted the sleep, but I also wanted to weigh. Ah well. Next week!

Welcome to the Jungle...

I've got some Guns'n'Roses playing in my head. This week was rough, and as usual, I was expecting a gain on the scale today at the WW meeting. I had an ovarian cyst rupture, which creates havoc and a half on my body. Hormones go haywire, I retain water like mad, I crave everything under the sun to eat, I physically can't stand up straight--let alone exercise, and I am sore like Hades from the moment it happens until at least a week after. This happened Monday afternoon while I was shopping with my mother-in-law. I was helping her do something in the dressing room when BAM! Instant pain. I doubled over and almost knocked the poor woman over. She's like 5'0" and I'm 6'2". Good thing she moved just in time. I also have a zit on my eyebrow. I know, it's not nearly as annoying as a cyst rupturing.

Regardless of all that mess, I managed to still lose 0.2 lb. That's impressive considering I couldn't stand for nigh a week, and therefore could not cook. Tim bought fast food for us...every night. Perhaps the walking to and from the parking lot at school helped some. I managed to get my butt up and go to school all week. The fact I had two tests this week had nothing to do with that...at all. Right. The White Album is that much closer to my grasp. I still have to set money aside for it, but I'm getting there.

I'm in the mood for a geeky night. Thankfully, it's Thursday, which is my normal geek-night. Tim and I play a tabletop roleplaying game (think along the lines of Dungeons and Dragons, for the lesser-informed) with some friends via IRC. We don't play D&D, but rather we're playing a sci-fi game called Starcluster 3. My character is an otter uplift who is adorably awesome at being a thief. I also want to watch The Sound of Music while playing. It may be accomplished.